


Sad Muffin Saturday

by happybeans



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I mean not really an AU but you get the point, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Matt Murdock the projection punching bag, tw for depression and for disordered eating because of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Matt says he's pretty sure he failed that test. It sends him into a depressive episode, and Foggy does his best to keep it from going full-blown. Set during their law-school days.





	Sad Muffin Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through it, so I wrote this to cope. Jammed this out in a couple hours, unlike literally every other fic I've ever written, so that's fun. Hope this helps somebody else out.

“I’m never getting up ever again.”

“Well, now that’s just not realistic,” Foggy says, trying for cheerful. He forces a smile onto his face, even though Matt won’t be able to see it. “I promise you, it’s okay. It’s just one class.”

Matt doesn’t even respond with words; he groans, long and drawn-out, like a zombie.

“It’s o-kay,” Foggy emphasizes. If only he could convince him. “Seriously. Let’s go get drinks, yeah? You’ll feel better.”

Now Matt moans, and it’s a solid 40% more pitiful and sad. Oh, buddy.

Foggy sits down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the various mattress creaks and squeals. He already knows he’s fat. Chill out already. He puts a hand on where Matt’s shoulder is under the blanket and nudges.

“This is where I live now,” Matt mumbles under the covers. He takes a big breath then sighs it back out. “Just go have some drinks. I’ll be fine.”

“Drink alone? Me? By myself? You would have me drink all by my lonesome?”

The shoulder bounces under Foggy’s hand.

“Don’t drink then,” Matt says, and his head flops sideways under the blanket as he lets it go boneless.

There’s a pause then, and if Foggy were anybody else, he might expect Matt to keep talking. But oh, no, that’s a negative, partner. Foggy knows better. He lets the silence go on for a couple of seconds, just listening to Matt breathe.

“I won’t,” Foggy says.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Foggy repeats, making them both sounds like an old and bickering married couple.

More silence.

Then Foggy nudges Matt again.

“Hhh, what?” Matt says, attempting and failing to bounce Foggy’s hand off his shoulder.

“I’m not going to let you lie here and mope all night,” Foggy says. He hesitates then decides to leave it at that.

For the sake of transparency, Foggy’s more than a little concerned. It’s mid-way through their second year, and he learned the hard way last year that when Matt gets depressed, he gets…_depressed_. Like… This is no joke. Foggy’s going to give it his best go at nipping this right at the bud before it can grow into something mean and terrible.

Matt mumbles something.

“What?”

He mumbles it again, and this time Foggy catches at least a sad fifth of it.

“What?”

“I said you should,” Matt speaks up finally. It’s stilted but honest coming out of his mouth. “Leave me. Let me mope.” Worse, he doesn’t sound sad or resigned. He just sounds normal. Like this is normal.

It’s not.

Foggy lets the silence continue for a moment.

Finally, quietly, he says, “I will not.” He shifts, turning to face towards his own bed, letting Matt’s shoulder go and resting his face on his hands. “Look, it’s okay if you don’t wanna get up. I just won’t let you do it alone. I’m in this with you, buddy. Remember?”

Matt doesn’t respond. He rolls over onto his stomach, and though he doesn’t outright sigh, his breath comes out heavy.

Lips pressed together, Foggy pushes up a bit further onto the mattress, finding a comfortable-ish position. He twists and gets a hand on Matt’s back to rub it.

“It’s okay,” he tells him. All he can think is that Matt won’t believe him. “I promise it’ll be okay,” he tells him anyways.

He stays there for what has to be hours, rubbing at Matt’s back. Humming softly to cover up the sniffles coming from beneath the covers.

* * *

The hope is that Matt will be okay come morning. That, evidently, is not the case.

And Foggy doesn’t even need to talk to or see Matt to know that; Matt keeps a pretty strict schedule: he works out on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. It’s Saturday at nine a.m., and Matt’s gym bag is still at the foot of his bed.

And so it begins.

Foggy pushes up to sit, rubbing at his eyes. Okay. Okay, this is fine. He stands up with much more willingness than he normally would at nine in the freaking morning and changes into clean clothes.

This is okay.

He’ll go grab some coffees and carbs, and even if Matt just decided to sleep in today, he’ll have a nice treat for when he wakes up. Everything could be totally fine.

Everything is not totally fine.

He comes back to the room, Matt’s mocha latte safe in one hand, the pastries and Foggy’s coffee balanced precariously in the other as he opens the door, and Matt’s full-on limp-mode.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Foggy says, closing the door behind him with a well-timed kick.

Matt doesn’t shift his position at all—on his right side, right arm underneath him and straight out, left arm crossed over his abdomen—but he at least lifts his head from his shoulder for a moment to acknowledge him.

“Good morning, Foggy,” Matt says, likely thinking that his grimace looks like a smile. No, it does not.

Foggy sets Matt’s coffee down on the dinky little bedside table first, to make sure that it stays safe. He places the pastry bag down beside it and his own coffee last.

“I come bearing gifts,” Foggy says, cheerful but keeping it quiet to fit the mood. “Mmm, coffee.”

“Mmm,” Matt hums back, though his heart clearly isn’t in it. “You shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t have to.”

“Well, I did,” Foggy says, picking Matt’s back up. “Ooh, mocha, your favorite. You gotta sit up for it, though. We haven’t forgotten The Incident, have we?”

Matt groans, but he smiles, showing his teeth. “How could I forget?” he asks, pushing to sit up with his back against the wall and legs out in front of him. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he says, “On hot days, I swear I can still smell it.”

“My bad, but it’s a lesson learned,” Foggy says. He taps the back of Matt’s outstretched hand with the drink, and Matt grabs it, pulling it close.

He takes a sip then smiles a little tiny smile. “Thank you, Foggy,” he says. He doesn’t move to take another sip, holding the coffee on one leg.

Foggy doesn’t mind. Matt could throw it at the walls like a monkey for all he cares. It’s just another red, red flag.

“I brought muffins and such, too,” he says, voice high and cheerful. He tries not to sound like he does when taking care of his littlest siblings, but well. Happens.

“You enjoy,” Matt says, head falling back against the wall. He’s still faking his smile as he says, “I’m not too hungry this morning.”

Foggy nods, then says, “I nodded. That’s okay. I’ll leave the bag on your bedside table for when you do want something.”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, you’ll have to eat something later,” Foggy points out.

“Not really.”

“Matt,” Foggy says, voice serious. Please don’t make him do this again. “You have to eat.”

Silence. Again.

Matt sips on his latte then raises it up. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says. “I… It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Matty. I’m here for you.”

And sometimes with Matt, just being there for him isn’t enough. He’s not going to let this spiral again.

“Matt,” he says, voice hardened. “It’s almost noon. Time to start thinking about lunch.”

“Not hungry, but thanks,” Matt says, passive aggressively smiling like he’s turning down horderves at an upper-class luncheon.

He doesn’t even think about it before he says it: “Well, me neither, then.”

And so the topic is dropped.

Until about one-thirty.

They’ve been mostly ignoring each other, Matt pretending to read his textbook and Foggy dicking around on the internet, perhaps maybe researching what the hell he’s supposed to do about this one. Apparently ‘not push’ and ‘not give ultimatums’. Unfortunate.

“Foggy, if you’re hungry, you should eat,” Matt says suddenly. It’s unbelievable that he could have heard Foggy’s stomach growling from across the room, but he did say the whole ‘being blind’ thing made him focus on hearing more.

“Are you going to eat something?” Foggy asks, looking up from his laptop.

“I…wasn’t planning on it.”

“Okay.” He looks back down at his laptop, clicking around. Quiz to find your ‘spirit color’, sounds good. “Then I’m fine.”

Matt scoffs, changing positions. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “If you’re hungry, eat.”

Foggy shrugs. “I’ll eat when you eat,” he says.

So on Saturday, Foggy doesn’t get to eat until it’s dark. Night comes early because of winter, and in Matt’s defense, he was sleeping for most of the day, but when Matt finally caves, Foggy’s already been eyeing that pastry bag for hours.

“Alright,” Matt says finally. He hasn’t moved since he went to the bathroom hours ago, but he sits up now. “I… I’m ready to eat now.”

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, setting his laptop to the side. Oh, thank Jesus. “Muffins? Chinese? I could probably still snag some cafeteria food; I think they’re still open.”

“A muffin sounds great,” Matt says, grimacing like he’s about to eat worms or something as opposed to a delicious and non-nutritious breakfast treat.

“Great, we have those,” Foggy says redundantly. “Blueberry or chocolate chip?” he asks, already pulling the blueberry one out for him.

“…Blueberry.”

He places the muffin in Matt’s hand, taking his own back to his desk. He sits and waits for Matt to take his first small bit before he digs in.

Matt eats slowly, arms limp at his sides when not raising up the muffin, and he gets about a quarter of the way through before he sighs.

“I don’t deserve this,” he says, face pinched.

“What don’t you deserve?” Foggy asks, placing the last half of his muffin firmly to the side. Later, beautiful. Later.

Matt throws his right hand up, left still clutching the muffin down on his lap. After a moment’s pause, Matt says: “Lattes, muffins, you. I’m a failure and a loser.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, pushing to stand up. He crosses the space to Matt’s bed and says, “I’m sitting down next to you. Scooch over.”

Matt silently scooches, placing his muffin on the bed to the left of him and leaving space for Foggy on his right.

“First of all,” Foggy starts in, once he’s situated. “You’re not a failure. We haven’t even gotten our grades back yet. For all you know, everyone could be feeling like this about that class and you set the curve.”

Matt breathes a disbelieving laugh through his nose, but Foggy continues:

“Also, you’re not a loser. Well…”

This time the chuckle is genuine.

Foggy shoves Matt’s shoulder with his own, and Matt strains a smile back.

“I just…” he starts, voice hoarse, and Foggy settles in. Murdock feelings don’t come easy or free. But, oh, are they worth their weight in gold. “My dad really wanted me to be a lawyer, you know? I’m just trying to make him proud.”

“Matt, do you think he would want you to treat yourself this way over one _possibly_ failed test?”

There’s silence, telling silence, and Foggy throws an arm around Matt’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he says, giving Matt’s arm a squeeze. “I promise you this won’t ruin your future. We’re getting through this place together, and you’ll be the next Thurgood Marshall.”

“Don’t slander his name,” Matt jokes lightly. He leans into Foggy’s hold, head coming to rest down on Foggy’s shoulder. “Foggy…thank you.”

“I’ve got you buddy,” Foggy says, rubbing his arm. “I’m here for you. Promise.”

And he’ll do whatever it takes to make Matt know that someday.


End file.
